Legends
by X-Man Fan
Summary: My first fic! Yeah! (pumps fist into air) Second chapter up, as more faces, familiar and not, enter the field.
1. Brave New World

Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter are not mine. They belong to J.K. Rowling. Anything that _is_ mine (and there will be some things, don't worry) will be pointed out to you when you see them. 

This is my first fic. Be nice and review. No flames please!

Legends

Chapter 1: Brave New World

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Location: No Man's Land, Sector 12A

Date: July 31, 2004

Time: 1600 hours

The air was rank with the stench of death as a harsh, cold wind blew around the camp of figures moving quietly amidst scattered debris and craters of considerable size in the ground. The wind swirled around the group but did not seem to penetrate the black robes with hoods that hide their faces.

One of them, a tall, lanky figure who was bringing up the rear, suddenly stopped and fumbled around within his robes for something. Seeing that one of their company had stopped, the others halted, and looked at the tall one, but remained silent.

The tall figure grunted, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter from his pocket. He took out one of the cigarettes, stuck it in his mouth (or what might've been his mouth, the hood was still on his head) and stuck the rest of the pack back in his pocket. He then lit the cigarette and took a long, deep drag, the lighter disappearing into the back of his robes.

Noticing the rest of the group had stopped and were staring at him, he exhaled, blowing out a thin stream, and said, "Sorry 'bout that. Really needed a fag."

The group then proceeded onward in silence for a few minutes, moving behind the skeletons of once glorious building long gone. Another robed figure, slightly shorter and wider than his chain-smoking counterpart, hung back as they were passing by a blasted warehouse. "Don't see why you really need those," he muttered in a low voice, so that the others couldn't hear them. "Those Muggle things are poisonous-blocks out the lungs and such."

"Oh, come off it, Archer," the tall, smoking one responded. "I've seen you smoking that pipe of yours when we're off duty. Blowing purple smoke everywhere, the place starts to stink of old cabbage. Besides, it's not like I can't get someone to heal me up."

Archer started to say something more, but the figure in lead suddenly stopped, leaving the group standing in front of what used to be a very large tower. He pulled out his wand, held it up, and said, in a low raspy voice, _"Surveous"_.

A small blue light, no bigger than a penlight, shone from the tip of the wand. The leader swept his wand back and forth in front of him, turning in all directions before being seemingly satisfied.

"Right then," he said, turning to the rest of the group, who were waiting expectantly. "Master Malfoy says there's been reports of a bogey hanging round this area, most likely hostile. We've been ordered to dispose of this fiend immediately. Now then," he said, looking over each member. "I want Rodenski and Rogers to take the south side of this area. Archer, Lyman, you take the east. Norton, you and Baxter search the north side. Chillings, you're with me for the west."

The smoker, Chillings, nodded and stubbed out his cigarette.

"Send up sparks if you need assistance, though I don't reckon the Master would approve of his agents needing any sort of reinforcements to take care of one person," At this, some of the group chuckled mirthlessly, and the leader smirked slightly. "You all have your orders. Carry them out."

Without another word, the group split up into their designated pairs and went off in different directions, wands raised. Chillings followed the leader, whose name was Samuels, as they headed off in the direction of an abandoned car, slowly rusting and falling apart. "Still don't know why the Master wants all of us searching for one man," he said to Samuels, who was scanning the area again with the Surveying Spell. "Couldn't half of us do the job?"

"Master Malfoy says that this one might be different from all the others we faced," replied Samuels, his eyes relentlessly searching the area. "Now keep looking and be quiet, fool, or you'll scare whomever we're looking for away."

Brushing off Samuels' last comment, Chillings looked around, his arms raised. _Different?_ he thought to himself. _How can this one be so different as to send eight of us out here in this field of death?_

Stepping over what looked like to be a dried out skeleton with its head missing, Chillings shuddered involuntarily. This place really was a field of death, with rotted out bodies and destroyed buildings around. Once, it and the surrounding area had been relatively clean, with the air free of death and devastation. Many Muggles, as well as quite a few wizards and witches had walked along this region once, going about their daily lives in the city once referred to as Paris, the City of Lights. Now all the lights had been snuffed out, and the people, Muggle and wizard alike, were either dead or gone.

__

Shouldn't feel sorry for these people. Chillings told himself firmly. _They deserved what they got. They should have accepted the Dark Lord and his new regime without hesitation_.

Still, he couldn't help wonder if—

A sharp, sudden cry split Chillings' thoughts, as well as the dreary silence.

He whirled around, wand raised, and Samuels in front of him did the same. Their searching eyes scanned the landscape, but could not identify the source of the shout.

"What was that?" Samuels demanded. "It sounded like Baxter."

Another scream pierced the air. "And that was Norton." Chillings said, a hint of panic in his voice.

More shouts and yells rang out, coming from all directions. Samuels swore. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

"There!" Chillings pointed to his right, where a shower of red sparks had gone up. He rushed off in that direction, with Samuels close behind.

No sooner had they gotten a few yards away from where they had been standing when a figure, black robes askew, hair disheveled and wild-eyed burst into view. He was looking all around like a crazed animal and his wand was missing.

"Rogers!" Samuels barked. "What's going on?"

Rogers ignored him, and continued to spin around even faster. Chillings noticed he was muttering fast to himself, something that sounded like "He's here, he's come to kill me, he's here, he's come to kill me…"

"Rogers, get a hold of yourself man!" Samuels grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to look up. "Who is it? Who did this to you?"

Rogers' wild-eyed stare focused on Samuels. "He's here, sir," he said, his voice trembling with fear. "He's here and he's come to kill us all!" He struggled in Samuels' grasp. "Run…have to hide…"

"Control yourself!" But the order fell on deaf ears as Rogers' broke free of Samuels and ran off, disappearing behind an old building.

"Damn it!" Samuels cursed again. "Come on, let's see what he was going on about." Chillings didn't move, still staring at the spot where Rogers had gone. "Come on, let's move!"

Forcing his legs to start moving again, Chillings started after Samuels.

A loud scream, full of terror, came from behind them.

The two wizards spun around. "Rogers!" Samuels yelled out. There was no answer.

"Bloody hell!" Samuels spat. "Master Malfoy won't like this."

"Is that what Draco goes by now?"

Chillings and Samuels spun around yet again as a new voice spoke from behind them. In the shadows of a desecrated building nearby, they saw a dark outline of a figure leaning on the ruined wall casually. "Funny, I would have thought Draco would go higher than just 'Master,' " he said in an almost amused tone.

Samuels raised his wand. "Show yourself, whoever you are!" he demanded.

"Ooh, can't do that," the shadowy figure responded with a laugh. "That would spoil the surprise."

"I've got a surprise for you, you arrogant bastard," muttered Chillings, raising his wand and pointing it at the figure.

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"Expelliarmus!" Chillings' wand flew out of his hand and soared towards the shadowy figure, who caught it. "Can't have that, now can we?" he said in a mocking tone. He then snapped Chillings' wand in half. "Now that's better—here you are." He tossed the broken wand back, where it fell a few feet in front of Chillings. Shocked, Chillings made no move to pick up his now-useless wand.

Samuels, meanwhile, still had his wand in one piece and was trembling with rage. "By order of Master Lucius Malfoy, Leader of the Order of Taraka, I order you to come out and face me like a man!"

"Oh, _Lucius_ Malfoy, eh? My mistake," the figure replied. "But just as well—I should have known Draco would too much of a stupid git to be called Master. His father, on the other hand—well, he's a bigger idiot than his son, but there you go." He paused, as though they were having a normal conversation and he was attempting to keep it going. "And oh, by the way…_STUPEFY!_"

A jet of red light blasted from the stranger's own wand. It caught Samuels full in the chest, him not able to react in time, and was thrown back several feet, unconscious. Chillings looked in shock and horror as he realized that he was the only one left standing—_and he no longer had his wand_.

Before Chillings could even think of escaping, the dark figure suddenly grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him forward. Even at this range, Chillings still couldn't make out his face, but he noticed something near where his eyes should be glinting off the dim sunlight. _He's wearing glasses_.

"All right, scum, where is he?" The figure spoke, his words now harsh and cold. "Where is here?"

"I-I don't know who—"

"Don't play any bloody games with me, where is he?" The stranger shook Chillings hard. "Where is he? Where is Albus Dumbledore?"

"He-he-he—" Chillings struggled for words, not knowing how this apparent madman would react when he heard his answer. "He's dead. K-K-K-Killed by the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord," breathed the figure. "You mean Voldemort?"

Chillings cringed at the sound of his true master's name. "Y-Y-Yes. At the fall of H-H-Hogwarts."

This seemed to upset the stranger even more, and Chillings felt his grip on him loosen slightly. "Fall?" He asked, more to himself than to Chillings. "Hogwarts—fallen? Dumbledore—dead? But how--?"

Seizing the opportunity, Chillings broke free of the stranger's grasp, propelling himself back towards Samuels' dropped wand, which had fallen when Samuels had been stunned. Snatching it up, he pointed it at the shadowy figure and cried, _"Avada Kedavra!"_

A jet of green light lanced towards the stranger, blowing apart the rest of the ruined building, and Chillings exhaled in triumph. Then his heart stopped as he realized, after the dust had settled, that there was no body lying there where the stranger had been.

Chillings looked around wildly. Where had--?

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Crack!

Chillings' heart jumped to his throat, and he let out a strangled cry as a voice shouted behind him. _"Reducto!"_

Chillings' body flew through the air and collapsed a few feet away from the wreckage of the building he had just destroyed. He was dying. He could feel his life force ebbing away.

Vaguely, he became aware of someone standing over him. The stranger. His would-be killer. And now, for the first time, Chillings could see who he was.

"My God," he choked out with his last breath. "How--?"

And then he was drifting away, darkness overtaking him, one last image burned into his mind…the face of his killer…wild, unruly hair…glasses…and a scar on his forehead, shaped in the sign of a thunderbolt. 


	2. So It Begins

Hey guys. Sorry I took so long with this. I kept getting sidetracked. I hope everyone likes this so far, even though it isn't much. Don't worry they'll be more. Anyway, cntinuing from my first chapter, here is chapter two. Enjoy!

Chapter 2: So It Begins

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Location: The Obelisk

Date: October 2, 2004

Time: 2000 hours

Lightning cracked across the sky as torrential rain pounded down against the raging waters of the ocean. Thunder boomed, seemingly shaking the tiny island that stood just off the coast of what was once Great Britain. A mighty wave, about as tall as a giant and just as strong, rose up to slam against the island and the dark tower that stood upon it. Curiously enough, though, the wave stopped short of the tower and, losing all cohesion, melted back into the water, where, beneath the surface, beasts of varying size lurked, hungering for their next meal and fighting amongst each other when it came.

Within the looming fortress was a tall man, sheltered from the typhoon outside. He, like so many others around him, was clad in black robes, though his hood was off, revealing a face full of contempt as he looked down at the hunched-over figure before him. This man, whose name was Tolkien, was his servant-cum-lackey, and although spineless as a flobberworm, did his duties well enough to be allowed in his Master's presence, on most days, anyway. There were some days, however, where Tolkien was beaten, more so than usual, and threatened with a slow, painful death when he intruded upon his Master's presence in one of his moods.

Today was one of those days.

"And you're telling me," his words edged with venom. "that eight members--some of my best members--were all dispatched by one man?"

"That is what Samuels said, sir," Tolkien replied, trembling as he waited for his Master's wrath to fall upon him. "He was left alive, it seems, to tell us of what had happened."

There was a long pause, and Tolkien flinched, waiting for the first blow across his back.

"Leave me now, Tolkien," his Master said curtly. "I have business to attend to." With that, he turned and walked over to a set of large, heavy oak doors set into the back of his private quarters.

Tolkien started. 

"Bu-but sir--."

"Do not test me, Tolkien," came the cold reply to Tolkien's sputters. "I am feeling a bit…benevolent…at the moment. Don't push your luck."

With that he pushed the heavy doors open with ease, and Tolkien made to leave hurriedly, not believing his small, but fortunate good luck.

"Oh, and Tolkien…" He froze, not daring to breathe.

"About Samuels," his Master continued. "He is of no use to me anymore. He has failed in his duties. Send him to New Azkaban. Put him on today's 'death row '. I want him to perish among the vermin and filth inside."

"Y-yes, sir. As you ordered." And Tolkien was gone, shuffling quickly away before his Master changed his mind about him.

***

Lucius Malfoy, master and leader of the Order of Taraka, the Lord's group of agents and hunters, strode through his darkened trophy room, where he kept his most prized treasures and secrets. No one was allowed in this room, not even his so-called "faithful" servant, Tolkien, who had been hired after his last servant had made the mistake of wandering in while Malfoy and the Lord had been doing business. Needless to say, he had been fired, quite literally, into the sea, and his body never found.

But that was then, and this is now, and everyone gave a wide berth of his room, afraid that their curiosity would get the better of them, and they would meet with the same, watery fate as his former servant.

And now, to business.

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Pathetic, he thought. _Eight good wizards, all defeated by a child_.

"The Lord won't like this," he said aloud, casting a look over his wife, her face cold and gray. "Will he, my pet?"

Narcissa, of course, couldn't answer. Once flesh and blood, the Lord had turned her into stone and granite, her so-called beauty forever immortalized. A small price to pay to get Malfoy his high-ranking position.

In the back of the trophy room was a marble altar, which seemed out of place compared to other items in the room. What was even more odd was the fact that there was a low-raised incinerator, like the kind used to cremate bodies, at the center of the altar. However, only Malfoy knew that this incinerator wasn't used for burning bodies.

After lighting the incinerator with a wave of his wand, Malfoy drew out a small pouch from within his robes. Opening it, he withdrew a handful of what looked like white sand, sealed and replaced the pouch back in his robes. Stepping back from the crackling flames, he tossed the handful of powder at them.

Instantly, the flames reared up, so high that they scorched the ceiling. A wave of intense heat washed over Malfoy, but he didn't flinch. Rather, he stepped closer to the roaring fire, and spoke in what sounded like a hissing language. _"Speak, Lord, your servant is listening."_

The towering flames parted and his Lord's snakelike face appeared. _"What news do you bring me, Malfoy?"_

"It is as you feared, my Lord," Malfoy said, switching back to English. "The rumors are true. The boy has returned."

His Lord was silent for a moment. _"Feared, Malfoy?"_ his high-pitched voice sending an involuntary shiver through Malfoy. _"It is as I feared?"_

Malfoy recognized his mistake. "Forgive me, my Lord--what I meant was--"

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"I do not fear anything, Malfoy," his Lord interrupted, red eyes flashing. _"Perhaps you need a lesson in discipline before you address me as such."_

"No, no, my Lord," Malfoy apologized quickly. "Forgive me, my Lord--it won't happen again."

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"See that it doesn't."

"Of course, of course," Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Now then--about the boy…"

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"Yes," his Lord spoke, with a slight hiss in his voice. _"The boy…he is new to this world. He does not know the rules of it."_

"He will try to contact those he considers loved ones," he went on. _"Make sure that he does not find them."_

"Yes, yes, of course," said Malfoy, bowing low. "I'll send a team to take care of him."

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"Fool!" His Lord's eyes blazed again. _"Do you think I do not know of what has happened before? Your men have failed in attempting to kill the boy. Sending more of them will be a waste of time and men."_

"Of course, my Lord--forgive me," Malfoy replied, bowing again. "What are your orders?"

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"He must not find his friends," his Lord repeated. _"Send your men to take care of them."_

"My Lord, you are most wise," Malfoy replied, bowing a third time. "It shall be as you wish."

The fire flared up once again, and his Lord's face vanished. The fire then went out, as if it had been snuffed. Malfoy waited a moment to make sure he was gone, then turned, heading for his outer chamber.

"'As you wish, my Lord,'" he muttered. "'You are most wise, my Lord.' Bah! As if that hypocrite did anything for himself! Always sending those loyal to him to do the dirty work, and criticizes them while doing so! One of these days…"

He shook his head in a dismissive manner. He couldn't be seen by his subjects like this. If anyone were to have heard him just now, he would have been sent straight to his Lord's lair. He'd much rather beg for death than be sent there.

Besides, there were other things to be dealt with now. As much as he hated to admit, his Lord was right. The boy would try to find those of the Resistance. If he should meet with their leaders…

Well, he would just have to deal with them. Accordingly.

"Tolkien!" His servant, trembling, appeared. A slow smile, full of malicious intent, spread across Malfoy's face. "Get me Weasley."

***

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Location: 50 miles from Resistance borders.

Date: Oct. 3, 2004

Time: 1000 hours

The small village was usually quiet, even at this time of day. Although it and its inhabitants were watched over by members of the Resistance, most villagers tended to stay behind closed doors and bolted windows, only going out to see if their crops had grown ripe and ready for picking, which usually wasn't the case anyway.

On a small yet steep hill high above, six figures on horseback watched the unmoving stillness. They, like so many others, also wore full-length robes with hoods over their heads, though of a dull gray, as to not attract attention. The group watched the small town below in silence, yet with an air of nervous anticipation around them, as if they were waiting for something dreadful to occur. For a long minute no one spoke.

Suddenly, one of them, who seemed to be the leader of their little party as he sat foremost, let out an impatient sigh, breaking the stillness. The rest of the group started a bit at the sudden noise and the person to their leader's right nudged him in an effort to keep him quiet.

He responded to the nudge by returning one with a bit more force, then, letting out another sigh of exasperation, threw back his hood, revealing his features. His flaming red hair, once full and somewhat tousled, was cropped short above the neck. He was tall, as he had been back in his youth, though not as wiry as he had been before. His skin was tanned slightly and he had a small but noticeable scar running on the right side of his neck. Although he had no chiseled jaw, it was still set in grim determination (and presently, annoyance). He turned his brown eyes to the one who had nudged him.

"Hermione, are you sure this is the spot Braddock was talking about?" he asked, irritation leaking into his voice. "I mean, when he mentioned Dark wizards running around, hexing whatever they could…it sounded pretty serious. But this…" he gestured to the town, which was still deceptively calm.

The person he was talking to also through back her hood, revealing copper-brown hair, once long and bushy, was now straight and fell just below her shoulders. She was of medium build; neither fat nor thin like her companion. The slightest hint of two upper front teeth displayed more prominently than her others showed when she talked or smiled. Her normally pretty face, usually holding a sense of compassion, was now made to match the speaker's annoyance.

"Look, Ron, just because there doesn't seem to be anything down there doesn't mean there isn't," she insisted. "I know for certain this is the place Braddock pointed out…maybe what we're looking for already knows we're here." 

A third voice spoke up from behind them. "Can we just move along, then? My horse looks like it's going to sleep." The rider who said this also threw back his hood, revealing what looked like an older version of Ron. This was, in fact, his older brother George, who was a bit shorter and more muscular than his younger brother, but nevertheless, looked about the same.

"I think Ron's right," This time, it was the rider on Ron's left who had spoken. She (for it was indeed a female rider) had also thrown back her hood, tossing her long hair over her shoulder as she did so. She had pretty complexion: fair skin, green eyes, a pert, slightly upturned nose, and jet-black hair that cascaded down her back. "There's nothing here. We should get back to the Homeland before it gets dark."

Her brunette companion snorted. "Oh, of course, take his side, Raven," she said sarcastically to the dark-haired female. 

"What do you mean 'Of course?' " Raven asked, indignation creeping into her voice.

"Well, with you and Ron it's always 'Oh Ron this', or 'Oh Ron that'. 'Ron thinks we should do this', 'Ron says we should go this way'. I'm surprised you two haven't gotten married yet.

"Why you--"

"Ladies, ladies, please," Ron attempted to get between them which was kind of hard, considering he was still on a horse. "Raven…Hermione, I--"

"You what, Ron?" Hermione turned to him again, eyes flashing.

"I…I…uh…"

"Look." One of two riders who had not spoken until now and still had his hood on, pointed down at the town, the other hooded rider mimicking the gesture.

The town, which had looked peaceful before, was now ablaze with activity…quite literally, in fact. Black smoke curled up from several different parts of the village and different colored jets of lights flashed and flew every which way. Screams could be heard echoing up from the village.

"Let's go!" Ron shouted, silently saying a prayer of thanks at the interruption of his fumbling of a response to Hermione's glare. Putting their differences aside for now, they pulled their hoods up over their heads and spurred their horses into a gallop, charging into the field of battle.


End file.
